


Light Bringer

by theleafpile



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: F/M, GET IT, Reveal Fic, Slow Burn, Stand Alone, ha, lucifer made the stars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-12
Updated: 2017-06-12
Packaged: 2018-11-13 04:31:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11177097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theleafpile/pseuds/theleafpile
Summary: Lucifer can't see the stars in L.A. Chloe drives him out into the darkness of the desert.Funny how things can be so much clearer in the dark.





	Light Bringer

The Universe is mostly darkness.

He was able to forget that, much of the time. Not a thought that hangs around one’s head. The Universe is mostly darkness and he knows that, intimately, as intimately as anyone or anything else – except for her. 

He was the light bringer, his breath blowing life into stars. He was born into burning. Twice.

Lucifer stepped onto the balcony and finally managed to light a cigarette in the gentle wind, the sound of far-off traffic below, the lap of the still Jacuzzi water behind him soothing, yielding. 

The stars weren’t out tonight. They weren’t out any night. Not here. The humans covered them up, determined to make stars of themselves.

How they tried. He flicked a bit of ash off the balcony and leaned on the railing, smiling sadly. They tried so hard to be everything but themselves.

A long drag, the smoke trailing from his mouth to his nose, burning. He was here for the same reason. No, he had no intention of being anyone else. He liked to joke that his Father had made him perfect, but he always left out the second part.

Perfection in design, flawed in character. There was something in him that yearned for the chaos of swirling gas and dust and that moment of pressure, of ignition, of flame.

Cruel irony, to bring light to the stars and then banished to where he could never see them.

The breeze was cool against his skin, his collar open, but he had felt much cooler temperatures, and much hotter.

A voice pierced the darkness. “You look thoughtful,” it said quietly, and he turned to the open doors where Chloe stood, wavering on the threshold, hands clasped in front of her. 

He hummed and took another drag, turning away. She stood beside him, not very close, and leaned over the rails, looking down. He wiped the end of the cigarette against the ground and flicked it over the edge.

“That’s littering, you know.”

“Here to arrest me?” 

“No,” she said, lifting herself and turning her body to his. He was still closed off, facing the railing. His eyes were someplace else.

“A new case? Someone new need punishing?” he asked, a question so familiar coming from him but in a tone she had not heard from him before. 

Defeat.

Chloe shook her head, and he saw it out of the corner of his eye. She reached forward and touched his forearm, fingertips brushing over the silvery fabric. He gazed at her hand, then lifted his eyes to meet hers.

“No case. I’m here for you.”

She dropped her hand. 

He resisted the urge to make a quip. Or to light another cigarette. He simply stood in place, and allowed the silence to fill the space between them.

“Usually this is the part where you tell me you’re fine.”

“Do you miss them?” he asked instead, lifting a hand and gesturing toward the clouds and smog. “I suppose, growing up in Los Angeles, you’ve never really experienced a clear night sky, but with your mother’s career, perhaps you’ve vacationed somewhere where you could. A higher altitude.”

Chloe turned to the railing once more and subtly – Lucifer wasn’t sure if she was doing it intentionally – stepped a few inches closer to him.

She was silent for a long moment, thinking. “Mom did take us to a few places where I could see them. Denver was where I could probably see them best. Well, outside of Denver,” she tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear, but the wind pushed it back out, “I snuck out, went driving into the mountains with a couple other girls. They didn’t know who I was, didn’t care. No flashing lights, no worries other than bears. It was nice.”

He listened, but offered no response.

“You know, they do peek out every once in a while around here. So long as there aren’t any fires.”

Lucifer rubbed a hand over his face and begun turning toward her, a fake, placating smile just beginning to form at the corners of his mouth. Chloe saw the inevitable before it happened: a quick remark, an invitation, and she’d turn him down, and leave, and whatever this moment was would be lost. 

“When was the last time you saw them?” she asked quickly, hoping to prolong whatever emotion he was feeling, something – anything – to help her understand him better. She wanted to know.

The smile didn’t make it across his face, but he looked down at her thoughtfully, and another replaced it. A sadness, the same look he had when he told her that she wouldn’t understand, that she could never understand.

“On the ocean. Quite a ways out.”

“Oh, yeah,” she teased, “you and a bunch of strippers on a yacht. Mind blowing, I’m sure.” 

He laughed, a small puff of air. “Nothing like that, detective. Maze and I were,” escaping from hell, he wanted to say, but it would be another lost opportunity. Why waste the breath trying to convince her? “swimming. We got very far out.” 

“Sounds dangerous.” He couldn’t help but smile fondly at that. She was so protective, a guardian – guarding chiefly herself.

“Yes,” he said, voice trailing, remembering. The beach. The wings. “But you must have come by for something? A drink?” he offered, smoothly turning, his fingers trailing over the cool metal handrails as he gestured inside with the other hand. 

“Sure,” she said, “One drink. And you can tell me why you’re asking about the stars.”

She allowed him to lead her inside, his warm flat hand on the small of her back, only leaving to move to the other side of the bar while she sat on the piano bench, her fingers brushing over the keys. 

“Learn anything new?” he asked, and she heard glasses clinking behind her.

“Um, no,” she turned. He was reading the label on a bottle. “I’ve got a real job and an 8 year old.”

“Shame,” he teased, tugging the top off the bottle with a low pop. He returned, glasses in hand, and sat on the bench next to her while she took a glass and sniffed it.

He sipped the drink, then set it on the piano, a pensive look creeping back over his features. 

Chloe remained quiet, sipping the drink herself, allowing him to collect his thoughts. She studied his profile, his brows furrowed together so slightly she may be imagining it, the edges softened in the gentle lighting of the bar.

“I made them, you know.” He risked a glance in her direction. “I know you don’t believe me. I’m sure you think it’s some ‘elaborate metaphor’ as well. But out there,” he motioned with the glass toward the balcony, “I created them. My Father entrusted me, gave me a small spark of Creation which he usually held on to so tightly himself.” 

Chloe set the glass on the piano, listening. She didn’t know how it could be a metaphor, a story he used to cover trauma of some kind. The way he spoke was riddled with such genuine depth of feeling that it cooled her to her bones.

“Not all of them, of course. Far too many for that. But the first were mine. I blew life into them like He blew life into you. Into us.”

He downed the rest of his glass and studied the crystal bottom.

“Nature took over from there. Physics. Things I don’t understand. I’m not even sure Father does, not truly.”

A quick glance to the ceiling. One hand held the glass while the hand closest to her fell into his lap, fingers clenching and unclenching. She wanted to reach out and take his hand in hers, but could not. Would not.

“I told you once that the worse punishment was knowing that you all invoke my name for all your wickedness, blame the corruption of your souls on me. And I didn’t lie,” he said quickly, glancing into her eyes, warm and open. She was an audience, but no captive. No, she was listening, of her own free will. “But there are times. Sometimes. I’m reminded of worse things.”

Chloe slid her glass of the piano and held the cool glass in her hands. “What could be worse than hearing your name be blamed as the root of all evil?”

His glass rumbled through the piano with a low thud as he let it fall between his fingers. It was a small distance, but enough to make the sound reverberate. “Trixie,” he stated flatly.

Chloe started to interrupt, “She’s not –” that bad, she was going to say, but her words were cut off by Lucifer’s.

“If you could never see her again.”

Her heart sank like a weight in her chest. 

“I have no intention of returning home,” he finished. “But from here. The city lights –”

She placed her hand on his, cupping his fingers in her own and standing. He followed suit, confused, and she dropped his hand when he stood. 

She did not speak. Her eyes told him enough. He followed her to the elevator and out to her car. Her face bore a determined look and Lucifer had learned that getting in the way of that was never going to have a positive outcome, so he let her drive in silence, rolling down the window once they left the city limits, the highway giving way into darkness. She held both hands on the steering wheel and did not look away from the road, even as the landscape changed from city to neighborhoods, from neighborhoods to empty lots, from lots to the first sandy wisps of desert.

Lucifer closed his eyes, enjoying to cold wind on his face. He was not typically a passenger, except when she drove, and that was almost always to or from the police station, on a case. All business. This was not. The pressure of the air reminded him of a long lost sensation, and he wished that he could tell her how beautiful it was to fly – except he would never admit it to himself. 

He had not lost his wings. They were taken. Three times. The first, when Maze removed them. Again when they were stolen. And third, when he had to burn them, to rid himself of his Father’s influence. He shifted against the back of seat, rubbing his scars against his shirt. The marbled tissue gave and stretched. 

Chloe noticed the movement, but could not form a question that wouldn’t make her partner anxious.

Lucifer did not know how long they drove. Time was still a concept he was getting used to. Eventually they slowed, and Chloe put the car in park and killed the engine and the lights. She left the car and began walking, her dark blue shirt masking her against the desert. He watched her walk until she was some distance away, then sprang out of the car and jogged to catch up, a question on his lips. She found what she was looking for, apparently, because she stopped. 

She smiled and closed her eyes, breathing in the clean desert air. A light hum of distant insects filled the air. 

“Sound travels farther at night,” he told her, and she opened her eyes.

“I didn’t know that.”

“Yes,” he started, launching into an explanation of sound waves, while she reached forward and with one finger, gently tilted his chin upward.

The sentence died on his lips.

The time on the ocean had nothing on this. That was riddled with salt water in his eyes and the afterglow of Hell.

Here, in the honey-colored landscape, miles from lights, his stars burned brightly, fiercely, defying the darkness in which they were nestled so easily.

He turned on his heel, gathering in as much of the sky as he could. He heard Chloe laugh beside him, the sound carrying out into the night.

“So you really made all of them, huh?” she asked. “Or, a bunch of them, at least.”

His focus returned to her. Her sun-kissed skin and hair paled in the darkness. She carried a smile on her lips but there was something behind the blue of her eyes, something entreating, and he found himself enraptured by it. 

“You believe me?” The light faltered. “No. You don’t.”

She reached out and held his arm. “I just want to understand.” 

He sighed, but her grip tightened.

“It’s just us, here. Us and them,” she tilted her face upwards, her eyes never leaving his. “So any secrets you have, anything. You can talk to me.” She drew in a breath. “I want you to talk to me.”

His eyes drifted from hers to the surrounding, empty landscape. It reminded him of another time. A time they were all surrounded by darkness. She let her hand slide downward, and the motion returned his attention to her. She shined like the moon. 

He swallowed.

“If you are afraid,” he entreated. “Go to the car and leave.”

“I’m not leaving you in the middle of the desert, Lucifer. I don’t care what you say to me.”

“Promise me.”

Chloe dropped her hand and pulled the keys from her pocket, jangling them between them. “Got it.” Lucifer raised his eyebrows, imploring. “Yes. I promise.”

It was all so quiet here. 

One last long look upwards, to the stars, or to his Father, he was not sure. 

He took a slight step backward from her and dropped his eyes, shifting from the nightclub owner slash part time consultant to the ruler of corpses and all things wanting and damned.

Chloe stepped backward reflexively, and Lucifer held the form for a moment longer than he would have liked, holding steady. She had not yet run. 

He inhaled, and allowed the face to return to his more recognizable form. He chanced a look at his partner. 

She was holding her hands at her sides, fists clenched tightly, her mouth a hard, straight line. 

He recognized that in her. Anger. That much was obvious. 

What he couldn’t place were the silent tears streaming down her face.

“I won’t ask you if your alri –”

She cut him off. “All this time. You were telling the truth.”

“I don’t lie, detective.”

“And the whole truth?” she asked, her voice shaking with rage.

“You know it,” he said softly, still surprised she was speaking at all. “My brother is actually my brother, though I obviously got the looks in the family. Maze is a demon. I bleed around you. And the rest, with my Father – well. The victors write history.”

Slowly her hands unclenched, and she pulled a sleeve down further to wipe her face. “Show me again,” she demanded.

“Usually one peek has people fleeing for their lives. One man jumped off a building. I’m not sure I want to –”

“Show. Me. Again.”

The glamour dropped and Chloe felt fresh tears rolling down her face. She willed them to stop but they would not. 

The flesh was scarred, yes, from abuse that must have taken place ages ago. But it was also flayed, and fresh, and raw, and warm even in the cool of the desert, steam rising from his skin like thin wisps of smoke.

It was ugly. Not because of its physical form, how it looked, but because she realized the depths of inhumanity it would take for one person to do that to another.

Lucifer returned his form and stared at Chloe, confused.

“Your Father did that to you.”

He inhaled. “It was a long time ago. Blame to go around.” Perhaps Linda was helping - he had never admitted blame aloud before. Chloe's expression did not falter. She wanted more of an answer. He exhaled, relenting. “My Father asked me to love humanity. I asked for the free will to do so willingly, instead of blindingly obeying. It was a gift He would not grant. So His was an order I would not obey.”

More, her eyes commanded.

“There was a war.”

More.

“My brother, Michael – my older brother, he likes to think, twins, you know, it’s hard to be older when you’re less than a nanosecond apart but hey, if he wanted the responsibility –” he laughed, nervously, then sobered his tone, “Michael and I fought the hardest. He was so stubborn about it. If he were my Father’s right hand man then I was his left.”

He took in a deep breath. “What I’m trying to say, is, when -” the words would not leave his mouth. When I Fell, he needed to say, and they were right there, waiting.

He had not explained the story is so long. Not in this kind of detail. Not to anyone. Maze knew it, his brother knew it. There was no reason to dig up history.

Chloe’s gaze softened from rage to anger to something he couldn’t quite read. The tears had stopped flowing but left their tracks on her skin. 

“You can’t see the stars from Hell. I Fell. From the igniter of flames to the king of ashes.” 

His gaze fell somewhere over her shoulder, at a particularly bright star not far from the horizon. “I’m still me, Chloe,” her name falling from his lips like a prayer. “I don’t mean to hurt you. I was hoping you’d never have to see.”

A stillness settled between them.

She nodded, and swallowed, and took his hand. “Let’s go home,” she said. “I’m going to freeze to death.”

“I’d never let that happen,” he told her, then leaned down as they walked. “Not on my watch,” he growled, mimicking the line from the body bag movies, and she rolled her eyes.

She hadn’t let go of his hand.

“Besides. It’s really boring where you’re going.”

A soft smile played on her lips, and she stopped before getting into the car. 

“Are you alright?” he asked.

She paused. “You’re really the Devil?”

He nodded, leaning against the hood of the car.

“And Heaven and Hell are real? And angels, and demons, and souls?”

He nodded again, searching her face for answers.

“And redemption?” she asked.

He laid his palms on the car beside him and rocked back gently. “You’d have to ask my Father about that.”

She closed the gap between them, sliding a leg between his. The muscles in his arms tightened, lifting himself toward her instinctively.

“Oh, I intend to,” she said, and lifted her face, brushing her nose against his. His eyes fluttered closed. 

“You’re not afraid of me,” he whispered, surprised.

“No. But He better be afraid of me.”

He smiled, and she raised her hands to cup his face so she could feel it. She brushed her lips against his, light and chaste, like the brush of a feather.

He leaned in closer, capturing her mouth in a real kiss, his fingers gripping the hood tightly. He pulled away and rested his forehead against hers.

She ran her thumbs over his cheekbones, then slid them to his jaw, pulling away and opening her eyes. He opened his and gazed upon her light. 

The Universe is mostly darkness.

Mostly.


End file.
